


i want to hold you, my dear, forever and ever

by The_Doom_Dahlia



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Canon Jewish Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Lesbian Vampire, Patsy Cline - Freeform, Sphynx, gay vampires - Freeform, takes place between acts 1 and 2 of falsettos, there's a tiny crossover with Little Shop of Horrors but not enough to warrant a fandom tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Doom_Dahlia/pseuds/The_Doom_Dahlia
Summary: charlotte finds love in the strangest of placestitle from 'i love you so much it hurts' by patsy cline





	i want to hold you, my dear, forever and ever

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in an hour and fifteen minutes and i'm genuinely really proud of myself

“This is the most ridiculous plan you’ve ever had, Marvin.” Charlotte chastised, swirling her whiskey in little circles. Her neighbor, already drunk, had come over after a long meeting with his ex-wife, convinced her to open a bottle of whiskey for them both since she ‘didn’t have work tomorrow’, and was chipping away at her resolve as he tried to talk her into joining some newspaper-based dating service he’d gotten into. It was almost exclusively marketed to people like them, folks on the fringe of a world that was barely opening up to let them in. 

“C’mon Charlie, it’ll be great! You’re stressed out all the time, you need to get someone in here that isn’t always in a lab coat.” Marvin insisted, grasping her shoulder in one hand and rocking back and forth slightly. He’d had one too many, she knew that. But she wasn’t his keeper. Not tonight.

“My friends aren’t always in lab coats, Marvin.”

He gestured to her, grinning. 

She peered down at her own lab coat, pristine and white as it was, save for the crimson letters sewn into the breast: Dr. Charlotte Dubois, MD. A frown crossed her face. “I suppose you might have a point.”

“Please, Charlie? I can’t do this alone.” he insisted, grasping her shoulders after setting his glass down on the coffee table. “There’s going to be so many bad dates and Trina won’t let me vent to her. Not after everything.” His eyes, blue and steely, were puppy-like as he begged her to join alongside him. There was a heavy five o’clock shadow on his face and bags as long as her thumbnail under his eyes. He looked like a wreck and she knew, deep down, that Whizzer’s leaving had done a number on him.

That fact tugged at Charlotte’s heartstrings. It was a miracle none of them had snapped from the strain. She sighed. “Fine. But you have to help me set it up.”

Marvin let out a bellow of triumph, hiccuping at the end and ruining his own effect, before snatching up one of her pieces of scrap paper and a hospital-branded pen and writing down something resembling a good description of who she was and who she wanted. She refused to let him post it that night. “Leave it in drafts so I can edit it tomorrow. HaShem only knows how badly you’re doing at spelling everything.” she insisted, taking the phone from him when he was finished. 

Sure enough, she had to spend a good chunk of her breaks editing the profile into something resembling English. Still, she posted it once it was ready and settled in to wait. Nothing would come of it, she was sure. It was just something done in jest to support her drunk friend in his sorrow. She’d forget about it for a while, remember it one night, and shrug it off. That was all.

Until it absolutely wasn’t.

* * *

It was the concise, simple, but sweet profile that had snatched Charlotte’s attention and refused to let it go. In a sea of soft-eyed femmes, dotted with ‘butch4butch’ girls who seemed more friends than lovers and a few stubborn men who called ‘threeway’ like seagulls on the shore, the only profile that had kept her attention longer than a few hours. It read this: “Twenty-eight year old single white femme seeks friendship and love. Hoping for a better tomorrow. Must love cats.”

It was accompanied by a photograph of a woman in a soft pastel blue swing dress, holding a hairless cat in her arms like a child. Her hair was in soft blonde pin curls and her eyes were a shining blue that entranced her. She smiled wide and warm and something kicked up in Charlotte’s heart. So, bending to her more insistent desires and figuring that maybe the four years difference in age between them might not matter, she sent her a letter. Nothing big, just a quick greeting, a compliment on her dress, and a little talk about who she was and what she did for a living. The blonde, Cordelia Cooper, had answered only a day later with a ‘thank you!’ and a couple sweet notes about her life. The paper smelled like cherry perfume.

They’d begun sharing messages back and forth, a new letter coming every few days before they’d decided to try out phone calls. Charlotte discovered that Cordelia worked night shifts at a local bakery, the Fortuna, and spent her days resting and taking care of her own little home. She joked that she’d become nocturnal. “It takes so much to get me out of bed during the days.” she’d confessed, giggling like a beautiful fool during their first call. 

“Well,” Charlotte had smiled, heart fluttering like a moth in a cage, to herself while laying back in her armchair after a long shift at the hospital “Maybe I can convince you to let me take you out during the day. I know this great little park by the hospital I work at. I think you’d really like it.” she told her. 

There was a pause, a tense one. She opened her mouth to apologize before Cordelia spoke again, voice soft and slightly nervous. She spoke only a word, but a word weighed with unspoken promise and hope.

“Maybe.”

It took a few more weeks of talking near daily, over letters and the phone, before Cordelia finally agreed to come out for a date. Charlotte was elated, eagerly agreeing to the terms her new crush had set out: the date had to be during the night and over before sunrise. After all, the blonde needed to rest before she went off to work and her cat, a sphynx named Iris, needed to go and see the vet the next day. “Poor baby’s been sick all week and I want to make sure she’s alright.

Charlotte understood, the date was set, and she eagerly went off to tell Marvin and prepare for her first date in years. Still, something nagged at the back of her mind. That name, Cordelia Cooper, it sounded so strangely familiar. She just couldn’t put a finger on it. She even did a quick sweep of the news for New York. No sign of any crime by anyone of that name. She was sure it was just something she recognized from the radio or a newspaper want ad, some little thing that had stuck in her head only halfway. Nothing to worry over.

Her mistake was not checking the news from Boston.

* * *

The first thing Charlotte noticed was that Cordelia was cold. Remarkably cold to the touch, especially for a warm April evening. “Are you okay?” she asked, unable to hold back the doctoral side of herself from its caring crusade. Another part of her jabbed at her to make a joke about ‘warming her up’. She shook that piece of her off for the moment, more worried than she probably needed to be.

Cordelia nodded, smiling the same sweet grin she’d had in her photo. “I just have really bad circulation.” she admitted. “I take medicine for it, it’s fine.” Her voice was even more tender than it had been over the phone, softer and sweeter. She’d dressed nicely tonight, a pretty yellow and white dress and matching heels, and clutched her pocketbook tightly as they walked the streets of Queens together, hands brushing but never clasping as the scent of cherries hung heavy in the air between them. “You look really nice tonight. I love the blazer.”

Charlotte adjusted her lapels with a grin. In truth, the blazer had been little Jason’s idea. The ten-and-a-half year old was curious and surprisingly good about learning she had a date with a woman. The kid gave her hope for the future, even if his mother looked at her like she was something foreign and strange. “Thanks. So, where do you want to go? There’s a really nice restaurant a few blocks up that’s usually got open tables around now-.”

“No!” Cordelia insisted. She laughed sheepishly, trying to shake off her own worries. “No, I-I ate before I came out to see you.”

“Oh.” Charlotte said, nodding a little. The doctor inside her fussed but she let her settle.

“Honestly, I’d just like to walk with you for a while.” Cordelia admitted. For the first time, color rose to her cheeks. It was stark against her skin, bright as the sun even in the harsh light of the streetlights they passed under. “I like just walking and talking with you. You’re really smart.”

“So are you.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be silly. I’m not a doctor like you. I’m just a cook.”

“Well, cooking is a science all on its own right? You’re just as much of a scientist as I am a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah. You save lives, I save chicken fat.”

The phrase made Charlotte stop in her tracks, laughing long and loud. She calmed down soon enough, embarrassed by her own chuckling. “I’m sorry, it’s just - that was really funny.” she told her, feeling her own cheeks burn. “See? They say laughter’s the best medicine. You’re already on your way to becoming a doctor.”

Cordelia giggled, soft and airy. “You’re very nice, Charlotte.” she said softly. She moved towards Charlotte, trying to lean on her shoulder. But someone passed and she moved away quickly. As much as they wished it could be safe, it simply wasn’t. So, they kept at a safe distance.

When they finished a long walk around Queens, Charlotte took her back to her apartment at around two AM. “This was fun.” she said softly, taking Cordelia’s freezing hands in her own. “You’re a really good date.” she admitted, adjusting her blazer. Sleep was beginning to wear at her and she felt extremely grateful than she didn’t live too far from where Cordelia did. They’d discovered that when she came to pick her up, the walk between their homes only fifteen minutes long. She’d joked that it explained how the letters had gotten between them so quickly.

“Good enough to take out again?” Cordelia asked, eyes alight with hope. 

“I’ll think about it.” Charlotte said. Feeling a sudden rush of bravery, she leant in for a kiss. But when Cordelia rebuffed her she moved away politely. She smiled a little in spite of it, taking relief in the matching smile from her date. “Goodnight, Cordelia.”

“Goodnight, Charlotte. I’ll call you.” she assured her.

As Charlotte made her way to the stairwell door, she heard the strangest thing. It was almost like Cordelia had murmured “You may enter.” to herself before unlocking her apartment and slipping inside. That same worried jabber began in the back of her head, reminding her of the name she recognized but couldn’t remember. But, weighed down with blossoming ardor, she ignored it and walked home in a haze.

* * *

It took six dates over the course of a few months for Charlotte to finally look up the name of her crush - now her girlfriend - in something other than a New York newspaper. Over the course of those few months, their dates lessened by their busy schedules, Charlotte had noted a few strange things about the woman she loved. The murmured entrance blessing before going into her apartment after their dates, how she liked to take the long way around to avoid the churches and politely refused to come with Charlotte to the temple for Shabbat, her insistence on only going out at night and refusal to go out to dinner. Charlotte had managed to convince her once, only for her to get sick soon after eating at a pretty little Italian place in Brooklyn. Food poisoning aside, it had been a good date.

Still, she’d been able to set these things aside. After all, what were a few strange habits and a sensitive stomach when she had the most marvelous woman she’d ever known on her arm. Cordelia was kind and gentle as a lamb, heart brimming with care, and Charlotte knew she was deeply in love. Nothing could change that.

But then the ‘silver incident’ had happened. She’d gotten a good paycheck that week and had wanted to buy the blonde something special. So, she’d stopped at a local jewelers and bought a little silver necklace. The charm was a small heart, an opal in its center, and Charlotte felt excitement bubbling inside of her as she made her way out with it. She was sure it’d look beautiful around her girlfriend’s neck.

Cordelia hadn’t thought so.

Her lover had blown up when she saw the silver necklace, insisting that Charlotte take it back, her normally soft and adoring eyes now cold and bordering on frantic. That had been their first fight and it had been brutal. Charlotte had said some things about Cordelia’s intelligence that she immediately regretted, wanting to dig her talons deep, and all Cordelia had done was look at her with shame in her eyes. They hadn’t spoken in a few days after that. 

Charlotte knew she’d royally fucked up. But that voice was back, jabbering at her loudly. So, spurred by heartache, self-loathing, and that irritating little blip in the back of her skull, she’d made her way to the New York Public Library to do a little research. Even if it was just a newspaper wanted ad she’d missed, it’d at least shut up her conscience so she could think.

“Excuse me,” she’d asked the attendant near the microfiche machine, a stick-thin, squirrely young man with glasses as thick as her wool coat. She paused and checked his nametag. “Seymour. Could you help me get some information on someone?”

He nodded. “Certainly ma’am!” he affirmed, stuttering a little as he guided her along. “What’s their name?”

“Cordelia Cooper.”

The man stopped, turning towards her with curiosity and sadness in his gaze. “Cordelia Cooper?” he repeated. He sighed when Charlotte nodded, cleaning off his glasses on his sweater vest. “I grew up in the same suburb she did, back in Boston. I never knew her well but, gosh, it was such a shame when she died.”

Something in Charlotte’s brain stopped dead in its pacing tracks. “ _Died?_ ” she repeated, wide-eyed as a mix of confusion and fear suddenly swept over her.

Seymour nodded, going to a cabinet and looking inside for a moment before taking out some papers and guiding her to the machine. He set things up and helped her scroll through the newspaper - the _Mayflower News Hour_. The paper was from 1951, and the headline read, clear as a bell: **_LOCAL BAKER KILLED IN MYSTERIOUS ACCIDENT_**. “I was born a couple years after it happened, but my foster dad told me all about it. The police apparently said she was riding with her cat and the kitty got spooked, jumped, and she went off the road. But no one ever found her body, only the car. Isn’t that the strangest thing?”

Charlotte’s blood ran cold in her veins. The picture of the victim, smiling with her parents at some Fourth of July party, matched her Delia down to the dimples in her cheeks. She could have fainted right there as her mind began to put things together. Everything began to make horrible sense.

“Are you okay, ma’am? I’ll make you a copy if you want!” He did just that when Charlotte nodded, handing it over with a smile. “Is there anything else you need?

She rose silently, adjusting her coat. “No, thank you, Seymour. Have a good day.” Charlotte said, voice monotone as her mind tried to process what she’d just learned, walking out without another word.

Seymour blinked curiously and shrugged, turning off the machine and stowing away the article before going back to his desk. Boy, he’d sure have a strange story to tell Audrey when he got home!

* * *

Cordelia ran her hands over the soft calla lillies she’d gotten from the local market, counting each one as she arranged them. She’d been horribly tense all day, tense and hungry, her body coiled like a spring about to pop. Still, she knew better than to try and go outside. In a few hours, she could eat. Then everything would be better. Everything but the aching loneliness in her chest. 

She wished she hadn’t driven Charlotte away, but she knew the truth: it was better to get her out and leave her alive than keep her with her and worry over whether some starving night she might turn on her.

The knocking on the door caught her attention and she quickly moved to peek in through the peephole, Patsy Cline crooning on the record player behind her. Fear struck her as soon as she saw Charlotte waiting outside, fear and a deep longing to bring her inside. But still, she spoke. “Go away!”

“Cordelia, let me in.” Charlotte commanded, voice heavy and commanding as she squeezed onto the piece of paper. “We need to talk about something, and I feel like you know what that something is.”

She sounded like she’d been crying and it felt like a rock was suddenly nestled in the depths of Delia’s throat. Every cell in Delia’s body begged her to obey, even as her mind put the facts together and wailed for her to stay put and not open the door. Her brain conjured pictures of Charlotte putting a stake through her heart, shoving her out into the high sun of a New York afternoon, leaving her to die all over again, never to return. But her heart, adoring and cloying, wouldn’t let her listen. So, Cordelia opened the door just enough to release the deadbolt.

Charlotte entered, shutting the door behind her and holding up the article like a shield. “When were you going to tell me?” she asked, the question coming out more like a condemnation than anything else.

Cordelia shrunk under her withering gaze, tears filling her eyes. “I wasn’t.” she confessed.

“Why?”

“You know why. You’ve seen movies, read books. People think we’re monsters.”

“Yeah? Well some people think I’m a monster too, Delia. Right down to the blood drinking.”

Cordelia sat on the couch, putting her head in her hands. She took deep, shaky breaths. No words would come out for a moment, and when they could it was in a quickly rushing spray. She told Charlotte the truth: she had died, yes, but some strange magic had changed her that night. She didn’t know if she’d always been like this and it took death to bring it out, but she remembered how pale her mother had been, how cold, how set in her ways and controlling. Almost like she was from another time all together. 

“As soon as I woke up, I came to New York on the nearest bus. Made a whole new life, didn’t even need to change my name. I found a community, other people like me, and a butcher willing to let me have the leftover blood as long as I baked for his family’s events. I survived. I wasn’t happy, but I survived.”

They sat in silence for a while, Cordelia’s face returning to her hands. Then arms coiled around her, holding her tight, and she allowed herself a squeak of surprise as she looked at Charlotte. She didn’t understand.

The doctor held her a moment, breathing in the smell of cherries like it was a lifeline, then pulled back and held her lover’s face in her hands. “Look,” she sighed. “I’m not going to pretend this is normal, or that it’ll ever be normal. But I love you, Cordelia, and I can handle this. I’ve handled stranger things than this.” That was a lie, she knew, but it was the sentiment that mattered.

Almost instantly, Cordelia broke down in her embrace and they held each other tight. She took deep, shaky breaths, and burrowed her head into her shoulder. “Thank you.” she said, and kissed her cheek. “I love you too, Charlotte, I’ve never loved anyone so much.” she confessed and kissed her long and slow, to make up for lost time. They spent the rest of the day and night together, reckoning with this strange new reality and getting lost in each other’s eyes.

Over the next few years, Cordelia would offer again and again to make Charlotte like her with an infinity of possibilities. She’d refuse again and again, until death darkened her door far too close to its knob and she began to find the idea bore some appeal. There’d be choices to make and things to learn, and days and nights spent making sense of what their lives were together and apart. And there’d be love, so much love that it choked out the darkness around them.

But for now, with the birds tweeting outside, Iris curled up by a heater in the corner of the apartment, and the lesbians holding onto each other and their rekindled love, there was only peace.


End file.
